Coffee
by Granger21
Summary: Ianto's thoughts and actions lead to Jack's inability to drink coffee. Warning: mentions of homosexual interactions, suicide.


Ianto Jones sat on his couch in an apartment that he hardly visited anymore. His life, recently, been completely consumed by Torchwood. He liked it better that way, less time to himself and his thoughts.

When he was home, he never drank coffee or tea. When he was home, he did not wear his normal tailored outfit. When he was home he did not read. When he was home he did not smile.

The Ianto at home was a far cry from the one everyone else knew. Here, sitting all alone, he would play his actions over and over again, trying to derive some sort of plan or hidden meaning, a clue as to why he was still alive.

Once Torchwood One had fallen during the Cybermen Invasion, Ianto was confused as to why he remained behind, when so many had fallen. Then he found Cardiff, and subsequently, Jack Harkness.

Jack was an interesting creature, Ianto was not completely sure he was entirely human. He knew that he would never die, that much was certain, however the rest remained a mystery. He and Jack had started a relationship of sorts, but he knew he was just a blimp in Jack's life, soon to be forgotten.

At this apartment, Ianto and many times contemplated suicide. So many times, that when he sat on his couch in rumpled clothes, his arms twinged and ached. He could feel the blood rushing down, just waiting to be released.

Every time Ianto was home, he would drag a razor across his arms. He would let his arms bleed; let the blood drip to the floor below. He longed to here the plop of each droplet as it fell onto the lightwood.

When Ianto's vision would blur, he would head upstairs and clean up. Usually, he would go to work afterwards, weather or not he was scheduled to work. Either that, or he would visit his sister, but he had stopped visiting after he started seeing Jack. Too many questions that even he did not know the answers to. So, he followed routine, he cut, he cleaned, he dressed, and he left his apartment.

When he arrived at work, Jack was there with a smile, questioning why he was there.

"Someone has to make sure you all have a decent cup of coffee before chasing down rift activity." It was stated clearly. Jack smirks back at the comment and moves in to kiss him, his hands resting on recent scars, but he doesn't know that.

"Then have at it, coffee boy," another smirk and a swat against his bum, and Jack was ready for work.

The day was slow, not much rift activity so everyone was sent home early. Everyone but Ianto. Jack turns and kisses him, removing his jacket, and pauses to remove Ianto's. Ianto smiles and lets him continue; he knows it will be only a matter of time until Jack finds them anyway.

"Ianto, what is this?" Jack asks looking down at the white cloth on Ianto's forearms that are slightly red in some places.

"A night without coffee," Jack doesn't smile.

"When did you make these ones?"

"This morning," a flat response.

"I thought you were okay? You said if you felt this way again, you would tell me, why didn't you?" Jack's tone was hard to decipher. There was sadness, of course, but also a longing.

"It's an addiction, Jack. Like smoking or drinking. I can't just stop. This was my last one, I believe. Sort of a farewell drink, or the last cigarette," Ianto explained, no emotion had crossed his face.

"Your last? You promise?" Jack pleaded. He hated watching Ianto come back with scars that he knew Ianto inflicted himself.

"My last farewell," Ianto promised, and everything was right with the world again. Jack continued with his previous ministrations, trying to show Ianto how much he needed him alive. Ianto tried as hard as he could to feel, but just couldn't any more.

Ianto went home, late, but he still returned home. He needed to finish. He told Jack his last farewell, although the man had thought he was promising never to hurt himself again.

He broke open the morning's wounds. They cracked, he hissed at the pain, but it was short, fleeting leaving him with an achy numbness afterwards.

He pulled out his razor and slashed new marks against the old ones, but these were deeper. These wounds bled in rivers, not drops. When Ianto felt his vision blur, he turned down and made another slash.

His vision was blurry and his head felt light, he fell back against the couch, unable to support himself any longer and closed his eyes.

His breathing slowed, as did the blood coming from his arms, however his breathing ceased before the blood flow did. Not by much, but enough.

Jack had been informed first of Ianto's suicide as the only numbers he had in the apartment were his sister and Torchwood members. Jack had to tell his team and be a leader to them, comforting them when he only wanted to sit and cry for the injustice of it all.

That day, Jack had stopped drinking coffee.


End file.
